194111 DesertMagazine 1941 November

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N O V E M B E R , 1 9 4 1 F O U R T H A N N I V E R S A R Y 2 5 CENTS


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The "Hermit" is My Friend . . .Boise, IdahoDear Desert Folks:I have just received the October issue ofyour wonderful magazine and it was with a dis-tinct shock that I read the article about the"Hermit of Impassable Canyon." The "hermit"is no other than Earl Parot, who is a personalfriend of mine and whom I esteem very high-

ly-Of course you have a nice story, but surelythe author was not acquainted with this won-derful man whom it was my pleasure to knowover 30 years.He is certainly a mild-mannered, honorable,fine fellow and I am proud to know him.Your magazine is very interesting and Ihope we will be able to contribute somethingthat will be of value to your publication, and ifthere is anything you have in mind that wemight furnish you, it will be a pleasure to haveyou call on us. With best wishes, I am,

ALLEN C. MERRITT Those Highhat Calilornians . . .

Lovington, N. M.Dear Si rs:I am writing you for a li t t le information.While it may be out of your line of business, Ihope you can tell me anyway. I am planningto spend a few months on the Arizona and Cal-ifornia deserts and as it has been 17 yearssince I was there and things happen so fastand in different ways, I would be pleased toknow if there is any restrictions in regards toentering California and if so, would like toknow what they are. R O G E R S L Y N C HMr. Lynch: In view of the restrictionsnow im posed at state boundaries not onlyby California but by a number of otherstates that is a very proper question. How-ever, I am glad to assure you that if youhave a certificate for your car. and bring noboll worms or other plant pests along with

you there will be no difficulty. K.H.Mine w as Too Rich . . .

Pasadena, CaliforniaDear Mr. Henderson :While I have been away on an extended tourthrough the northwest, I have been a constantreader of the Desert Magazine. I find it in mostall news stands everywhere.In the October issue on page 20, in an ar-ticle by G. Dale Hamilton entitled "Bonanza onTreasure Hill"it is stated that silver ore atHamilton, Nevada, yielded $27,000 to the ton.I visited this old "ghost" town late in Au-gust and heard a lot of tales about it as usual.But I am wondering whether or not at that t ime,the price of silver was as high as $1,121/2 per

ounce. That is the price they must have gottenand it must have yielded 24,000 ounces tothe ton.Figure it yourself, any way you like, andthen draw your own conclusions.A couple of years ago, there was a storycirculated around Bodie, that ore was discov-ered in an old shaft there, at the 800 foot levelthat assayed $3,000 to the pound, and manypeople repeated the yarn, and many believed it .I have always been more or less a skeptic inregard to these old tales of long ago, and maybeI am "al l wet" but st i l lI wonder? There i sthe Peg Leg, the Lost Dutchman, Weepah anda host of others all in the same vein, that makeme reach for the salt shaker. Skeptically yours,ROY CARSONP.S.I am not looking for lost mines, but I

get a kick out of reading about them in Desert(the best magazine in the W es t). So-what? R . C .

no Birthday Greetings . . .Dear Randall: El Centro, CaliforniaThose Tenderfeet . . . A jo, ArizonaDear Desert Magazine:I wish you would tell the whole wide worldhow to pronounce the name of this town. Thetenderfeet insist on calling us "Ah-jo"j as injolly. Sounds like the monkey man in a side-show.There isn't a prettier place name in theSouthwest than Ajo when it is given the cor-rect Spanish pronunciationAh-ho.The Ajo members of your Desert Magazineclan will be forever grateful for a little helpthrough your very readable columns.BILL VESTALAt Lead Pipe Springs . . .

Los Angeles, CaliforniaDear Sir:Enclosed please find a picture of a tamebird that came into our camp over the Laborday weekend. At that t ime the Los Angeleslapidary society had a field trip near LeadPipe springs, in the desert east of Randsburg.On our arrival to camp Saturday morning,we noticed this unusually tame bird runningabout. It seemed utterly fearless and just keptout of arm's reach. Bread crumbs were offeredit, but it was not interested. However, it soonshowed us what kind of food it liked, when itfollowed the erratic flight of a grasshopper,caught it and crept into the bushes to eat it.Several men in the party caught grasshoppers,which the bird took from their hands. It alsostopped hunting food itself and hung aroundfor the men to provide the insects.When a person left camp, the bird wouldfollow him, expecting a handout, and wouldbe flying and running and keeping almost un-der the feet, until it was convinced no grass-hoppers were forthcoming. Then it would flyback to camp.It stayed around all day but at evening itjoined three birds that chanced to be flying by.W e thoug ht that was the last of the bird, butearly next morning we found it perched on thecot of one of our members, waiting for itsbreakfast.As I happened to get more grasshoppers forthe bird than some of the others, it made mycamp its headquarters and followed me everytime I left the spot. This picture was taken ofthe bird eating a grasshopper from my hand. Ifound by holding the grasshopper firmly, thebird would fly to my hand and pick the insectuntil i t was consumed. This was done severaltimes, and limited only by the lack of grass-hoppers.I am not sure of the identity of the bird, buthazard the guess it was a Dwarf Cow Bird. Itwas about the size of a black bird, plumagewas a drab brown with white edges around thefeathers. The breast was full , with beak straightand strong and eyes black. None of us heard itmake any cry.When we broke camp Labor day, i t was stil lthere. Perhaps some of your readers could cor-rectly identify the bird from this rather meagerdescription and possibly someone might comein contact with it, in the vicinity of Lead Pipesprings where we were looking for blue agatenodules.

The bird event was one of the highlights ofour trip, and all enjoyed its friendly visit.CHARLES G. SCHWEITZER

When I picked up the October issue of Des-ert Magazine and I saw that it contained theindex to Volume IV, I realized then that youhave completed your fourth year of publication.Congratulations upon what you haveachieved and congratulations to you upon at-taining an ideal which I know you had inyour mind for many years. The Desert Maga-

zine has become a wond erful publication un -der your leadership. May you have many times4 times 4 times 4 years of continued success.ROBERT HAYSThanks, Bob, but the ideal isn't aituinedyet. R.H. Jitterbug for Rockhounds . . .

Denver, ColoradoDear Mr. Henderson:Private David E. Smith's letter in the Augustissue of Desert Magazine reminds me that thereis a general agreement in this part of the coun-try that the new army car, known around theposts as the Jeep or Jitterbug, is really idealfor rock hunting, in the mountains as well as

the desert. I believe that if mineral collectorsrealize this, the government will have littletrouble in disposing of what are left of themwhen the wars are over. Each mineral clubshould own one to be rented to members whoare making trips off the improved highways.Desert Magazine might remind its readers aboutthis when the time comes.RICHARD M. PEARLSecretaryColorado Mineral Society

"Maze was Always There" . . .San Bernardino, CaliforniaDear Mr. Henderson:After reading the very good letter of Fred-erick C. Butler in the October number of TheDesert Magazine in which he comments on the"Mystic Maze" south of Needles, I would likewith your permission, to say a few words my-self on that subject.

To begin with, one man's guess as to its ori-gen is as good as another's for nobody knows.Until the first rough auto road was builtacross the hills from Need les to the Santa Fe To-pock bridge the maze was to all intents un-known. (That road connected with the rail-road bridge, which was planked over to allowpassage of automobiles.)Then the maze, close to the highway, beganto attract attention. Some years ago a Los An-geles magazine expressed the belief that rail-road engineers in the search for beds of gravelneeded in the bridge construction were respon-sible for the maze.Now, as I very well remember, preliminarywork on that bridge began in 1888. Mark thedate.R. J. Halsey came to Needles with the rail-road in 1883. In 1886, while traveling on foottowards Needles from the Black Metal mineof Pete McGuire down the river, he came uponthe maze but thought nothing of it , for, intruth, it is not at all impressive.Years later, after it had been formally "dis-covered," Halsey, Wm. Hutt and the writerwent down to look at i t . "Shucks," said BobHalsey, "I saw that in 1886 and forgot allabout it ."Subsequently the three of us, individuallyand collectively, questioned many old Indiansabout it and invariably the answer was: "Wedon't know who made it . It was always there."CHARLES BATTYET H E D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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D E S E R TGcdest&aA,

O C T . 3 1 - N O V . 1 P al m Springs-Coachella Valley boat races, Sal-ton Sea, California.

OC T. 31-NOV . 1 Nevada's 77th Ad-mission day, Carson City. Parade,pageant and "1864 Ball," Satur-day.OC T. 31-N OV. 1 Annua l livestockshow, Ogden, Utah. E. J. Fjeld-sted, show manager.NOV. 1-2 Home-coming for alumni ofArizona State Teachers college.Flagstaff. Football game Satur-day with N. M . College of Agri-culture, followed by Home-com-ing ball .1-8 De er season in Ruido so and Sac-ramento areas, New Mexico.Special permit applications fromstate game office, Santa Fe, be-fore Oct. 20.1-DEC. 31 Nevada season on mountainhare and cottontail; varies incounties.2 AH Saints' day at Taos Pueblo,New Mexico.2 Pheasant season opens in Utah.Counties vary 2 to 5 days.6 Frederick Jagel, Metrop olitanOpera tenor, guest artist with Al-buquerque, New Mexico, CivicSymphony orchestra, opening10th concert season.6-8 Arizona City Days, marking 70thanniversary of Arizona City asYum a county seat. At Yum a,Arizona.8 Masonic ceremonial at CarlsbadCaverns, New Mexico. Membersof Shrine Temples of San Diego,Phoenix, El Paso, Albuquerqueand Reno among those to attend.8-16 Arizona State Fair, P hoenix.Zach T. Addington, chai rman.9-11 Mojave Empire rodeo, Calicoguest ranch at Yermo, California.12 Fiesta of Don Diego , Tesuq ue In-dian Pueblo, New Mexico.13-15 50th ann ual conven tion of Ari-zona Education association atPhoenix Union High school.13-15 Fiesta del Sol, Phoenix, Arizona.15-16 14th A. A. U. Swimming andDiving meet, El Mirador hotel,Palm Springs, California.16 Gadsden fete, Old Mesilla, Ne wMexico. Celebrates consumma-tion of the Gadsden purchase,bringing it into the U. S.16-30 Arizona open season on q uail.Extended to December 16 inYuma and Mohave count ies.29 Annua l Festival, Brawley, Cali-fornia (tentat ive).Utah open season on ducks, geese, coot

continues through November toD e c . 14 (opened Oct. 16).

Volume 5 NOVEM BER. 1941 Num ber 1COVER D E A T H V A L L E Y , P h o t o g r a p h b y J o s e f M u e n c h , S a n t a

B a r b a r a .L E T T E R S C o m m e n t f r o m D e s e r t M a g a z i n e r e a d e r s . . . 2CALENDAR Curren t even ts on the Desert 3FANTASY Midnight at Bandelier

B y M ORA M . BROWN 4MAN-HUNT On the Trail of Willie-boyB y JAMES L. CAR LING 6CONTEST M o n t h l y p r i z e c o n t e s t a n n o u n c e m e n t . . . . 1 0P H O T O G R A P H Y P r i z e w i n n i n g p h o t o g r a p h s i n S e p t e m b e r . . . 1 2G E M TRIP Spark l ing Gems in the Aquar ius Range

B y RANDALL HENDERSON 13FICTION Hard Rock Shorty of Death ValleyB y LON GAR RISON 16PERSONALITY He Belongs to the Pan am in tsB y L ER OY a n d M A RG A RE T B ALES . . . 17

CEREMONIAL Ute Sun Da nce , by CHARLES KELLY 22WEATHER D e s e r t t e m p e r a t u r e s i n S e p t e m b e r 2 4A R T O F L I V I N G D e s e r t R e f u g e , b y M A R S H A L S O U T H . . . . 2 5LOST MINE Lost 'Captain Dick ' Mine

B y JOHN D. MITCHELL 27PUZZLE Desert Quiz a test of you r Desert kno wle dge . . 28LANDMARK H i c k m a n B r i d g e , b y L O U I S E M c H U G H . . . . 2 9MINING Briefs from the Dese rt regio n 30N E W S Here an d There on the Desert 31BOOKS Rev iews of South wes tern book s 34PLACE NAMES Origin of na m es in the South wes t 36HOBBY G e m s a n d M i n e r a l s E d i t e d b y A R T H U R L . E A T O N . . . . 3 7C O M M E N T J u s t B e t w e e n Y o u a n d M e , b y t h e E d i t o r . . . . 4 2POETRY Deser t Mem or ies , an d o ther poem s 43

The Deser t Magazine is published monthly by the Deser t Publishing Company, 686State Street, E l Centro, California. E ntered as second class matter October 11, 1987, atthe post office at El Centro, California, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Title reg isteredN o . 858865 in U. S. Patent Office, and contents copyrighted 1941 by the D esert Pub lishingCompany. Permission to reproduce contents must be secured from the editor in writing.RANDALL HEND ERSON, Editor. LUCILE HARRIS, Associate E ditor.Richard B. Older, Adve rtising Represen tative, 416 Wall St., Los A ngeles, Calif. Phone TR 1601Manuscripts and photographs submitted must be accompanied by full return post-a g e . The D esert Magazine assumes no responsibility for damage or loss of manuscriptsor photographs although due care will be exercised for their safety . Subscribers shouldsend notice of change of address to the circulation department by the fifth of the monthpreceding issue. SUBSCRIPTION RATESOne year, including gold-embossed loose leaf binder $3.00Two year s, including binders for both years 5.00You may deduct 50c each for binders if not desired.Canadian subscriptions 25c extra, foreign 50c extra.Address correspondence to Pesert Magazine, $3$ state St., El Centro, California.

N O V E M B E R , 1 9 4 1


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Tyuonyi ruins in Frijoles canyon.Mora M. Brown wen t to the ancient ruins in Frijoles can yo n on a moon-lit midnight to endeavor, in her imagination, to bridge the vast span oftime since the ancien ts dw elt in this pla ce. For her it w as a rich experienc eand if you are one of those humans who find peace and inspiration inthe solitude of a lonely desert canyon, you will enjoy it with her.

M idnight at SandeLietBy MORA M. BROWN

fl T W AS a rich experiencethe mid-V/ night I spent among ancient ruins inOctober moonlight. The moon, fulland glowing, made luminous the gold-leafed trees along the little river and thetumbled walls upon the gentle slope. Itsmagic carried me far back into the past.I do not know why I selected the Fri-joles canyon ruins in Bandelier nationalmonument near Santa Fe, New Mexico,but for weeks I had thought about thismoo nlight tryst with the ancients who oncedwelt in this place.It was late afternoon as my husband andI wound among the tufa canyons of this

great table-land and saw in the soft cliffsthe caves which olden men had carved outfor their homes. It was sunset when weslanted downward from the juniper andpinon covered mesa into the long courtbefore the m odern stone pueblos which areheadquarters and lodge.At that late hour in that late month wewere the only visitors. Our guide led usfrom the museum to a pathway shaded bycottonwoods, alders and box-elders, andbordered by the stream. Beyond the quietwater spread a lovely rock-trimmed camp-ground in the shade of oak and pine.Then the pathway left the stream and

led us to the first kiva, a rock-lined, cir-cular chamber in the ground where theseancient people conducted tribal ceremon-ials. We brushed past wild gallardia inbloom, past rabbit-bush, sunflowers andbuckwheat dry with autumn, then througha labyrinthine entrance into the ruinsknown as Tyuonyi.Six hundred years ago this was a mul-

tiple-storied community dwelling built inthe form of a huge oval about an openplaza. The ruins of three kivas, one freedof debris, edged the path on our left. Tothe right, beyond the huddled and brokenlittle stone rooms, rose a rugged basalt andtufa cliff in which were the cave-homes ofpeople whose front yards had been theroof-tops of stone houses strung all alongthe base of the cliff.Tyuonyi is not a complete oval now ; itshighest point is not yet excavated. But inthe resurrected walls of the 200 standingrooms, and in the artifacts found there, isrevealed the story of the life its builderslived.In the face of posted warnings it tookcourage for me to ask if I might return inmoonlight. But Ranger Elmore said yes.He may have sensed the way I felt aboutit. "But," he added, "it will be midnightbefore the moon reaches the ruins, andmidnight will be cold."Midnightgood! My one remainingproblem was how to come to it alone.There are times when a husband's de-sire to be protective is an error. I neededthat quiet hour away from talk of war. Ineeded it to reach beyond myself. But no,husband said, it wouldn't be right for himto leave me there alone.But he was tired. Stretched out on awarm bed to wait for midnight, he fellasleep; and I, warmly wrapped, slippedout alone.What a changed world! The moon wasking, and he covered his kingdom withthat special kind of brightness whichflattens everything to two dimensions.Moon-touched objects were luminouslysilver; shadows were absolutely black.Gone with sunset were the landmarks ofthe day.Where was the path? We had gone outthe rear door, and then which way? Theruins, I recalled, were on a long slope. Icould see the black cliff standing guardbehind them. I started out across the slopeto intercept the path.It was strange the way the ground,which in full daylight had been station-ary, began to hump itself and to drop insudden hollows. Even my flashlight couldnot keep me from stumbling, from gettingentangled with brush, from beingscratched. But I kept on; the black cliff

was always ahead. It was only the pathwhich was hiding. I do not know howlong I fell into little washes before IT HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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turned around and stumbled back to theone light waiting in one window.From there I began again. If I went firstto the stream, I reasoned, then bore to theright, I'd find the path sometime . . .Just beyond the camp-ground bridge Ifound it wandering, lace-shadowed andstrewn with autumn leaves, beside thecreek. In the night silence the dry leaveswere small explosions underneath my feet.The sound of the water was like youngvoices murmuring. The air, a mile highand in October, was biting through myclothes.You come upon objects abruptly inmoonlight. The first kiva was a suddenblack crescent lying flat upon the ground.I almost collided with the first wall ofTyuonyi, so suddenly it came to meet me.The basalt and tufa cliff, jet black withshadow, seemed just beyond my reach.But I was there at last, alone in moonlit

silence with a thousand yesterdays. Theycrowded about me, bringing pictures oflittle-things-that-were: Cornstalks bend-ing in a summer wind; squash, half green,half ripe, upon a creeping vine. Cottonpuffs on scraggly little bushes. Brown-bodied hunters bringing in their kill.Women cooking over smoking fires. Chil-dren playing. Dogs barking. Turkeys gob-bling. A harvest dance with masks andchants and drums, and firelight makingall the shadows quiver. And over there,by themselves, two new home-makershe bringing stones, she plastering the mudon with her hands.Slowly I moved along the path whichedged those clustered rooms. I could al-most hear the sound of soft foot-falls, theecho of lost laughter. Carefully I steppedover a low wall, and on the far side of thesmall room which "they" built I felt themud plaster until my fingers found anindentation made by that other woman'shand.What was she like? I wondered. Young,doubtless. In love with the young bravewho brought stones for this room. Hadshe plastered dreams as well as mud be-tween them? Was it here that she became

a mother? Probably. And just beyond thatnarrow doorway, in the sunshine of theplaza, she had made her pottery, nursedher children, cooked her simple meals.An d sometimes in the night she had leanedagainst this very wall with her small boyin her arms, and rocked herself to still hiscrying. Perhaps, as she rocked, as mothershave done in every time and place, shehad thought about the future of her sons.She had thought of simple things like hon-

The circular underground room is akiva that served as both club roomand ceremonial chamber jor the menoj the tribe.

esty and kindness and courage; normalthings like homes and families and work;needful things, like dependence on one'sGod.And then I wondered if, years later,from somewhere out beyond her world,had come the terrifying rumble of a mad-man warrior. I wondered if their Chiefhad summoned all the strong young bravesand made them ready. I wondered whatshe might have thought in such dark days.Perhaps, one night while her husbandslept,


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Here is the story of Willie-boy, the Pahute killerwho terrorized the Southern California desert regionfor a brief period in 1909. Most of the waterholes inthe region covered by the Indian renegade are nowacce ssible to automobilesbut in rea ding this storyit should be kept in mind that the posses which fol-lowed the trail of the Indian were traveling onhorses at a time when few roads and virtually nosupplies were available for man or beast east ofBanning.

O'n tie "TtallBy JAMES L. CARLING

N AN October day 32 years ago the white smoke ofa Pahute funeral pyre rose from among graniteboulders at the southern extremity of the Mojavedesert and plumed skyward into the blue. It was perhapsmore symbolic than any of the watchers knew, for it markedthe passing of an era for California.In the amazing chronicle of Willie-boy, Pahute Indiankidnapper and murderer, are to be found all the ele-ments of action, suspense and grim frontier justice whichdistinguish the typical Hollywood "west-ern." They are all therethe only differ-ence lies in the fact that this particulardrama was played in deadly earnest.My search for the true version of theWillie-boy story led to the files of the SanBernardino Daily Sun for September andOctober, 1909, and to interviews withBen de Crevecoeur and Joe Toutain, offi-cers in the posse which finally ran thekiller to earth.

Isoleta Boni face, 15-year-old Indian girl, kidnapp ed andthen killed by W illie-boy. Ph otograph from Los AngelesRecord of October 16, 1909.

Both of these men, now grey-haired andelderly, live in Banning, California, at a

trailer park and auto camp operated byToutain. Both were helpful in supplyinginformation, but it was from Ben deCrevecoeur that I got the complete story.His face, weathered by years of sun andwind, creased to a grin when I broachedthe subject. "Willie-boy? Sure, I guess Ican tell you what you want to know. But Ithought folks had forgotten all about thatby this time."I remarked that if they had, it lent all

the more purpose to a recounting of thetale now. He laughed and invited me into

This message scrawled in the sand by Isoleta Boni face as she wa s being forced toaccompany Wi llie-boy in his flight from the o fficers, was translated by Indian ]imVine "My heart is almost gone . . . I wi ll be dead soon."

his little cabin. He eased his heavy-setfigure into a chair very carefully, explain-ing that he was favoring a back injurysustained two years ago."I s'pose you'd w ant to know somethingof what Willie-boy was like before he be-came notorious. I can answer that in acouple of wordshe was just an ordinaryIndian. He worked around Banning as acowboy, and he was a good onetrust-worthy and dependable.""The whole business really started,"

Ben continued, "back in 1908. Willie-boywas interested in a 14-year-old Pahute girlnamed Isoleta Boniface. Her father wasOld Mike Boniface, and he didn't likeWillie-boywarned him to keep awayfrom the girl.""How old was Willie-boy?""Twenty-five or six. He was hot-headedenough not to take Old Mike's warning,and a little while after that he kidnappedIsoleta from the family's camp at Twenty-nine Palms. Mike was in a terrible rageand trailed the two, and before he tookthe girl back he told Willie-boy the nexttime he came near her he'd kill him."Th at seemed to change Willie-boy. Hebecame surly and glum, and he must havedone an awful lot of thinking about the

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wrong he figured had been done him.Anyway, during the next year he cameto hate Old Mike just as much as he likedIsoleta."Maybe nothing would have come of it,but toward the end of September, 1909,Ringling Bros, circus was in San Bernar-dino. One daySeptember 26 it was ayoung white friend of Willie-boy's wentin to the county seat to see the show. Whilehe was there he bought a suitcase full ofliquor, and when he came back late thatafternoon he and Willie-boy got drunk.Sometime in the early evening the whiteboy started feeling badly and went home.So there was Willie-boy, ugly-drunk, withnothing to do but sit by himself and think.But with all that booze in him, he didn'tsit very long."He went over to the Gilrnan ranch,where the Boniface family always workedduring the summer. Willie-boy hadworked there himself, off and on, and he

knew the layout perfectly. He broke intoa supply shed where they kept some guns,and stole a Winche ster .30-30 and a coupleof boxes of cartridges."Then he crept up to where Old Mikeand his wife and seven kids were sleepingunder a big cottonwood. He stood close,lifted his rifle, and shot the old manthrough the head."That was about nine o'clock Sundaynight. At the sound of the shot the wholefamily woke up screeching, but Willie-boy threw down on them with the rifleand they shut up pretty quick. Then hepulled a gaudy-looking scarf and a pair ofhigh-colored garters out of his pocket andthrew 'em at Isoleta. She didn't pick 'emup, so he grabbed her by the wrist anddragged her off down a little ravine intothe dark. He told the family that he wasgoing to hide there all night, and if theymade a sound he'd come back and slaugh-ter 'em all. To give you an idea of howscared they were, they didn't report themurder until six o'clock the next morn-ing."We got on the job the minute weheard about it. I was C onsta ble. andUnited States special officer at Banning inthose days, and I rounded up Toutain andsome more of the boys for a posse. Wepicked up Willie-boy's trail at the Gilmanplace and fol'owed it across the orchardsto the Southern Pacific tracks. From theseit headed east along the hills, and we couldsee he was making for the open desert.""Wasn't it pretty tough going trying totrack a man through all the rocks andbrush of the Pass?" I inquired. I was think-ing of the 20-mile stretch of uneven,heavily-bushed territory that sloped fromBanning down to the floor of the desert."Sure," grunted Ben. "He was a mightysmart Indian, too, but we had boys in theposse who were as good as he was. Mostof us were born and raised around hereme up in the Morongo valley and Toutainright here in the San Gorgonio Pass coun-

Riverside, Cal., Oct. 1st, 1909

Wanted for Murder$50.00 RewardW illie Boy, a Ch ima wa wa Indian . 28 years old.H eig ht 5 feet 8 or 9 inches. W eight 150 pou nds. Sm oothface. M ediu m build. Ha s a scar und er his chin whe rehe was shot about three years ago, the bullet coming outof the mou th, taking out two or three teeth. W ore newblack hat, dark gray coat and pants.Willie Boy is wa nted for th e m urder of O ld M ike,

an Ind ian , on Sept. 26, 1909, at Ban ning, C al. H e alsoshot and killed Old M ike 's dau ghter on Sept. 30th, afterforcing her to follow him 70 miles in the mountains.H e w as trailed to a po in t ab ou t 25 miles northea st ofThe Pipes in the San Bernardino mountains on Sept. 30,1909, and was headed toward Da ggett or New berry. Hehas a 30-30 rifle with h im an d is a desperate m an . T ak eno chances with him . I hold wa rrant for mu rder. Ar-rest and send any information toF. P. WILSON, Sheriff.

After the killing of Old Mike Boniface,Sheriff W ilson of Riverside county obtainedthis picture of Willie-boy and had these notices posted all over the Southwest.N O V E M B E R , 1 9 4 1


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try. We grew up with the Indians andlearned all their tricks."There were a couple of times that daywhen we thought we had him. We wereso close we could even hear the g irl scream.But Willie-boy was like the devil himselffor keeping out of sight, and he'd manageto double back until sometimes he wastrailing us . All day long we were right onhis heels, though, and finally he cut acrossthe Pass toward the old Whitewater ranchon the north side. It got so dark then thatwe had to pull up for the night just out-side the ranch. We figured that at dawn,when the horses were fresh, we could runhim down in pretty short order.

"It was a bad night, rainy and windy,but as soon as it got light again w e startedon. The trouble was, we found that Willie-boy had been a little quicker. His trail ledon up Whitewater canyon a ways, andthen up over the rim of the canyon to theDevil's Garden. Down in the bed of thecreek we found a patch of mud with someIndian sign scratched on it. We got oldJim Pine, a Pahute, to read it for us, andhe said it had been done by Isoleta. Thepoor girl was pretty bad off. What she'dwritten meant something like, 'My heartis almost gone . . . I will be dead soon . . .'"Scouting around on the high groundout of the canyon I was the first to pick upthe trail again. I yelled for the rest of theboys but I didn't wait. I was clear over tothe foot of the Little San Bernardinos be-fore they caught up with me.

"We went up Big Morongo canyon, offto the right of where the road goes throughtoday, and on into the Morongo valley.We didn't know it, but Willie-boy washiding in a juniper bush at the top of thesummit, watching us come."We were over the line into San Ber-nardino county by this time, and a possefrom San Bernardino, headed by DeputySheriff Charley Reche, joined us. We fol-lowed the trail along the northwest side ofthe valley and up through a little canyontoward The Pipes. Do you know that Pipescountry?" Ben asked suddenly.I said that I'd been over all the regioncovered by the manhuntthat is, as far as

four wheels could take me.He nodded. "Then you know it's amighty barren, unfriendly piece of land.That was where Willie-boy started show-ing how smart he was. He'd circle around,sometimes go out of his way to followalong dry, hard creek beds, and he'd rollbig rocks down across the trail. And rightabout there we found a big jackrabbit hepicked off at a hundred yards or so. Hecut off the head and left it there so's we'dsee the bullet had hit the rabbit clean in theeye. Th at was his way of telling us what wecould look forward to."When he got to The Pipes he brokeinto a miner's cabin and helped himself tosome flour, a canteen and ammunition. In-stead of carrying it himself he loaded it all

onto Isoleta's back, using her for a pack-animal. The g irl was in a bad way by then.We could tell by her tracks that she wasjust dragging herself along. Not far fromthere she came to the end of her trail. Shedropped her load and tried to run. But shewas too weak. She staggered over to arocky wall and leaned against it. Willie-boy never even tried to follow. He justpulled up his gun and shot her as shestoodthrough the back. And then, hav-ing gotten rid of his drag, that Indian litout and ran 11 miles without stopping."The sight of that girl's body was some-thing a person would want to forget, butcouldn't," he said quietly. " We came onit while it was still warm. H er clothes werejust rags, she was welts and bruises allover, and there were cactus spines in herflesh. She had worn through her thin littleshoes, and her feet were raw and bloody."Well, we took her back to Banning,and delivered her to the relatives. The

whole countryside was roused up by thegirl's killing, and Willie-boy got the repu-tation right then and there of being just amad-dog murderer, which he sure enoughwas. We phoned in to San Bernardino, andSheriff John Ralphs and Deputy GeorgeHewins started out for Daggett in the Mo-jave to outfit a posse there. We figuredWillie-boy was headed for the Pahutecountry in N evada, and they might cut himoff. My brother Waldemar joined Ralphsin Daggett. Wai was one of tthe besttrackers who ever lived in this or any otherterritory. Their outfit started into the des-ert from Newberry."By that time Charley Reche and therest of us had gone back and picked upthe cold trail. We followed it northeast,out toward Ludlow. Then our suppliesran low and we decided to cut south to thebase camp which had been set up at Sur-prise spring. That was the time when plaindumb luck saw us through, because nearthe spring we crossed Willie-boy's trailagainand it was fresh! He'd gone eastbeyond the Bullion mountains to Sheeps-hole spring, and then dropped down to-ward Twentynine Palms. W e d idn't knowit at the time, but he had his own rifle

cached at the Palms, along w ith a revolverand some cartridges."The place was nothing but an Indianvillage in those days. When Willie-boyreached there he found nearly everybodygonescared off. But one old squaw hadheard about the killings and had sunk hisgun and shells to the bottom of a deeppool of water by the springs. Willie-boyraided a watermelon patch and stole twomelons which he started to pack awaywith h im. Just as he was leaving the Palmshe saw the posse coming in. We werepretty well strung out, which probablysaved our lives, because he dropped hismelons and hid in the mesquite on a littleridge that was within easy gunshot.

"When we'd found Willie-boy's trailwe'd sent word to the rest of the boys tomeet us in Twentynine Palms, figuringthat if it came to a showdown we'd betterhave more men. So when we got in at thesprings close to sundown we waited. Thelater it got the madder w e were, and by thetime they showed up it had been dark fora couple of hours. That was one of the big-gest disappointments on the whole chase."But we were hot on the trail at dawnthe next morning. We found the Indianhad started back toward Surprise springand then turned due west, heading for thefar mountains where he'd killed the girl.We really drove those horses that day,I'll tell you, and we gained on him. Justabout noon we came to where he'd builthimself a little fire and cooked a big blacklizard. Toutain shoved his hand in theashes, and they were still warm."We piled into the saddle and rodewest again, trying to catch some sight of

him up ahead. The greasewood and brushis pretty thin up there, but that son-of-a-gun managed to hide away in it, runninghell-bent-for-leather all the time. Wecould see the mark of his rifle-butt whereit dragged in the sand.""He must have been pretty close to thebreaking point."Ben rocked back in his chair. There wasa grudging admiration in his voice as hesaid: "That's what we thoughtbut hekept right on. Things were getting mightytense. We were dead certain we'd take himany minute. We found the print of his

whole body where he'd flung himselfdown in the mud of a dry-lake bed to suckup a few drops of rain-water. Beyond thelake his tracks started zig-zagging backand forth to throw us off and delay us. Inthe middle of the afternoon we came acrosssome rocks he'd tossed together into a kindof forthe must have figured to make astand, and then changed his mind againat the last minute."We kept up the grind until the lightwas so bad we couldn't see any more, andwhen we finally pulled up there was 40miles of dry, hot desert behind us. ThatIndian had covered that distance since

noon, running most of the way and lug-ging a rifle."Our horses were just about blown withthe strain, so we rode into a little box can-yon where there was a waterhole. We sataround there in the dark, talking over ournext move, and I guess we wouldn't havebeen quite as easy about it if we'd knownthat Willie-boy was lying in a little holeunder a slab of granite, not 50 feet away,listening to everything we said. If it hadn'tbeen so dark he'd have picked us off likea bunch of clay pigeons in a shooting gal-lery. I don't figure I was ever any closer tothe pearly gates than that."So there we sat, telling him all aboutit. We finally headed out of there for Old

T HE D E S E R T MA G A Z I N E


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OLD W OM AN SPRINGS

\ i \ SURPRISE SPRING \ \ ^S. IC w /no* r/ii i en \ V .,

H O C K C O R R A L ^

S A DDL E H OC K S PR I N GS KGIR L KILLE D/ ^ ^ ^ l . M E S Q U I T E S P R I N G # \

: ' \ I T W ' E N T Y - N I N EP A L M SSan Goraonto Mtiv.Sarv bemardmo Cou.rxtry"Riverside County

DEVIL'S GARDENV-WHITEWATER CANYON

Woman springs, where we hoped wecould get some fodder forthe horses anda little food for ourselves. Oursupplieswere down to the point where ahalf can ofkidney beans wasdoing aman awhole day.But we were out of luck at the springsthe ranch house hadburned and therewasn't asoul there so we just had to makeshift with what we had."Next morning when we went back tothe waterhole we found Willie-boy's trackscovering our own, and I can tell you wefelt pretty cheap. That day we trailed himinto the granites along the mountains, andthe going was tougher. It's not as easy fol-lowing amanover rock as itis over sand."I said that it would seem to be aprac-tical impossibility, but Ben shook his head.

"No, wewere lucky there. Willie-boywas still wearing his shoes. When amanhas shoes onyou can trail him even on aclean granite surfaceif you look mightysharp you can see a little whitish patchevery step hetakes. Of course, you haveto be close after him,orthe marks will begone in afew hours."W e had a base camp at Warren'swell," continued Ben, "and we started op-erating out of there. Thursday morningthe posse split up into two groups andCharley Reche, JoeNowlin, mybrother

W ai deCrevecoeur, John Hyde andSegun-do Chino started outtogether. JohnandSegundo were Indian trackers. Toward the

middle ofthe day they hadworked aroundsouth of Saddlerock spring, just aboutthree miles from where the girl waskilled,when all of asudden a rifle cracked fromsomewhere up in the rocks. CharleyReche's horse dropped out from underhim, andCharley pitched to thegroundand just laid there. Abullet had hit thehandcuffs in his hippocket and split intwo. One half had gone into hisback atthe base ofhis spine, and theother halfhad ranged down and killed the horse out-right."The other boys jumped forcover, and

at the same minute Willie-boy startedshooting their horses. He shot three more,killing two andcrippling thethird,andN O V E M B E R , 1941


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the fourth one was s:ared enough by thenoise toplunge cut cf range before hewashit.W ai and Joe Nowlin were trying tohide behind a pinon, and every time theystuck their noses out Willie-boy would'bark' the tree with a rifle bullet. It wouldhave been worse than suicide to try to

reach Charley. He was back of a rock,un-conscious, but his position was wide openfor Willie boy to shoot anybody who triedto get to him."There wasn't any way of telling wherethe shots were coming from. The echoesbounced the noise around so it soundedlike whole barrages every time the Indianf:red. All they could do was lie and wait.After a while Segundo Chino sneakedaround and up into the rocks andpumpeda couple of bullets into where they figuredWillie-boy might be, but nobody couldtell whether it did anygood."Reche laid there all afternoon in thesun. Willie-boy yelled dow n at them every

so often, 'W hy don 't you come out in theopen? I would shoot an Indian, but not awhite man!' There weren't any of 'emanxious to accommodate him."Finally it was dark enough so theywere able to get out to Reche. Even so,they were in a pretty tough spot. He need-ed a doctor badly, but the moon w asn't due

to rise until two that night, and theycouldn't find their way out in the dark.Early in the evening they sent old JohnHyde to try to find the rest of us at War-ren's well, and just as he left they hearda single, muffled shot from up in the rocks.Nobody paid much attentionthey weretoo busy with Reche."I had stepped out of the ranch houseat Warren's well as John Hyde came run-ning in. I threw up my rifle, figuring itmight be Willie-boy, but he fell on myneck and gasped out, Alldeadall dead!'He was pretty near dead himselfhe'd run

clear up into The Pipes thinking we mightbe there, and then all theway back to the

C r u m b l i n g W a l l s i n A r i z o n aWho can identify this picture?

P R I Z E C O N T E S T A N N O U N C E M E N T . . .Fo r the November Landmark contestDesert M agazine has selected the old ruinsshown in theabove picture. These staunchwalls are located somewhere in Arizona, ata site well known to many travelers.Where are they? When were they built?W hy was the structure allowed to go toruin?T o the Desert Magazine reader who

writes the most complete story of this land-mark in 500words a cash prize of $5.00

will be awarded. Name and locationshould be given, as much historical dataas can be condensed in the word limit,and any present day use or significancethe old structurehas.Entries must reach the office of DesertMagazine not later than November 20,1 9 4 1 , and theprize-winning story will bepublished in the January number. Thereis no restriction as to the residence or oc-cupation of those submitting manuscripts.

Wells, a distance of about 24 miles. Assoon aswe could getany sense out of himwe started for the scene of theambush ina wagonwe didn't have a horse left thatwas fit to saddle."W e hadplenty of trouble finding TheplaceJohn Hyde was tooscared and tooworn out to gowith us, and his directionswere none too clear. But about threeo'clock in the morning, as wewere head-ing in back of Rock Corral we met mybrother and Joe Nowlin and SegundoChino packing Reche out onthe unwound-ed horse. There was quite an argument asto what to do thena few of the boysthought we ought to stick right therewhere we had Willie-boy cornered, butthe Sheriff held out forgoing back toBan-ning and re-outfitting with more men andplenty of supplies. Our stomachs were sodarned empty that it seemed theonly sen-sible thing, sowe lugged poor oldCharleyback to Warren's well and got a doctor forhim. He was in pretty bad shape fromshock and loss of blood and lack of atten-tion.

"A t the Wells we argued some more,but thewhole business ended up by us allgoing back to Banning. W e figured toout-fit again asquick as possible andthen seethe thing through to a finish. We sent hayand barley and supplies out to all the basecamps we hadOld Woman springs, dif-ferent mines and ranches all over the ter-ritory. It took longer than we'd figured,and by the time wewere ready to start itwas Tuesday. Altogether we had about 100men, split up into three posses. Ralphs wasgoing to take one in through Bear valley,the second was starting out of Victorville,and we were coming up from Banning.We were all supposed to come together atthe place where we'dleft the trail."The whole countryside was arousedby then. Ranchers and m iners were comingin from theoutposts, and the Indians herewere panicky for fear Willie-boy wouldcome back and start a wholesale slaughter.W e had to post guards on the roads intoBanning. There were even people whowere looking for a Pahute uprising allthrough the valley and over to the Ari-zona border."Well we started out Tuesday. Thurs-day night we rode into Rock corral andfound Deputy Sheriff George Hewinsthere waiting for us. Altogether we had27 head of stock, and there wasn't enoughwater at the corral to give half a dozen agood drink. They just had to go without.By four o'clock thenext morning we werein the saddle again, and Hewins and thepack animals started for Old Womansprings. The rest of us cut back up in thehills to pick upWilly-boy's trail."When wecame to the spot where theboys had been ambushed we spread out,keeping our guns free and ready. Wescouted around, not knowing what wewere looking fora killer, or just hisweek-old tracks heading out of there.

10 T H E D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Recent picture of Ben de Crevecoeur{right) and Joe Toutain, officers in thepossewhich finally ran the killer to earth."I took my horse up a little ridge andjust as I cleared the top I saw a man'sknee sticking up over a rock. The move-ment of the horse made it seem like theknee moved, and I figured maybe Willie-boy had been sleeping there and was com-ing up for action. I threw down with myrifle and shot through a bush. I knew ifhe'd been raising up my bullet would havecut him in half. But there wasn't a sound."I yelled at the boys, and we closed in.We found Willie-boy lying back of therocks, dead as a turkey. He'd used his am-munition down to a single cartridge, takenoff his right shoe and shot himself throughthe chest by pulling the rifle trigger withhis toe. He'd been lying there ever sincethat Thursday night when the posse hadheard that one muffled shot."When an Indian knows he's going to

die he generally gets rid of all his posses-sionsand Willie-boy wasn't any differ-ent from the rest. We found he had

wrapped a turquoise-and-silver scarf-holder, that I remember seeing him wear,in his scarf, and he'd thrown the thing wayover into a juniper bush about 100 feetaway. In another direction we found a1 nife he'd tossed out into the sand.""The body was pretty far gone, and theIndian trackers wanted to burn it, likethey do with all their dead. I didn't haveany authority to tell 'em to go ahead, butSheriff Wilson of Riverside, who was withus, decided it was all right. We got to-gether a big pile of juniper, laid Willie-boy on it, and touched a match to the heap.The body wasn't burned up completely,bu t we left it and went on back to OldWoman springs."So that was the last of Willie-boy. Wetook his rifle back to Banning and laterSheriff Wilson bought it and put it on

display in Riverside. We figured out thatthe whole chase had lasted 11 days, andduring that time the Pahute covered be-

tween five and six hundred miles on footover some of the roughest country youcould find anywhere. And when you re-member that he was lugging a rifle allthat time, and hard-pressed by a mountedposse, you begin to realize that, whateverelse he was, he was a tough specimen ofhuman machine.""How about Reche?" I asked. "Did he

recover?""Yes, Charley spent a couple of monthsin the hospital but he finally got up andaround again. They wanted me to take the$200 reward for finding the body, but Ifigured Charley was the one who reallydeserved it, so we gave it to him. He's liv-ing now out in the Mojave somewhere, buthe's always been crippled as a result of thewound. My brother and Joe Nowlin areboth gone. Old Segundo Chino still livesup on the reservation just out of townhere."I nodded at the badge which was

pinned to Ben's suspenders. "Does thatmean you're still a law-enforcement offi-cer in Banning?"He chuckled. "Oh, they've got me onthe roll down there at the station and Idrop in and talk things over with 'empretty regularly. But I'm taking thingseasy now. I had a touch of flu last year andthe doc says it didn't do my heart any toomuch good. Still when you've been in har-ness as many years as I have, you can'tcomplain about little things like that. I'mdoing pretty well, I reckon."Looking at his keen eyes and friendlygrin, I could agree to that. As I stood onthe doorsteps of the little cabin, prepara-tory to leaving, he stuck out a firm, cal-loused hand."Well, sir," he said, "I guess that's all."And that is allall except a brief news-paper announcement which I believe con-tains enough humor to warrant beingquoted. The announcement appeared inthe SanBernardino Daily SunOctober 19,1909, just four days after the discovery ofWillie-boy's body, and reads as follows:"The first stage production of 'Willie-boy' isbeing put on at Riverside, last night

being the first of a three night's stand bythe Harry Hollingsworth troupe whichhas mastered a hastily-composed melo-drama, based on the thrilling chase of theofficers after the renegade Pahute. Theauthor of the play has made some tellingstrokes in delineating the character of theIndian and his mad love for Isoleta Mike,whom he slew."The play is laid in Imperial valley, inorder to hush criticism of Riverside, butit is understood to be the purpose of theplaywright to correctly locate the playafter it has been dished up to the critical

audiences of the 'Willie-boy country' asRiverside is now widely dubbed by theEastern press."N O V E M B E R , 1 9 4 1 11


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* -

QlaadBy JOE ORRLos Angeles, Calif.

A sudden desert torrent rushinginto one of the many washes thatcross the road between Needles andParker dam. Taken with a 31/4x41/4Auto Graf lex, 1/40 seco nd at f4.5.Agfa SS Pan Press film. Cloudy skyand raining at the time.

Piekii .ton.ic MadqaitaBy PERCY BROWNSanta Fe, New Mexico

The photographer's daughter in-spects a petroglyph in the PetrifiedForest national monument, near Hol-brook, Arizona. Taken with a Rollei-flex camera, Super XX Eastman film,no filter. Exposure 1/250 at fll. Win-ner of second prize awarded in Des-ert Magazine's September photo-graphic contest.

Special Men.itThe following photographs werejudged to have unusual merit:"Evening Blesses the Desert," byOllie B. Neher, Pomona, California."Mackerel Sky," by Leonard Rich-ardson, Escondido, California."Beavertail Cactus," by R. L. Pheg-ley, Anaheim, California.


13/44

Most of the garnets found onthe surface in the desert South-west are too soft and lusterlessto be worth carrying home. Buthere is a mapped field trip thatwill take the collector into anarea where real garnets of gemh a r d n ess may be obtained. Itisn't a trip for a paved-road ten-derfoot, but there are no serioushazards, and it is a region thatwill offer never-ending delight tothose who like to explore themore remote sectors of the desertcountry.By RANDALL HENDERSON

UY Hazen is field scout for theAmerican Museum of NaturalHistory, and when he invited meto come to Wikieup, Arizona, where heand other paleontologists were excavating

These ga rnets, reproduced actual size, a re average specimens of those found on thetrip described in the accompan ying story. They were chiseled out of the rhyolitewith part of m atrix still attached.

Spatkllna Gem5 Intaat uatiu.5 anqethe bones of prehistoric horses and othermammals from an ancient plioceneshoreline now high in the mountains, Iwas eager to accept the invitation.Not that I know anything about fossilbones. But there is a thrill just in standingon the edge of a pit watching experts withtheir picks and trowels and camel's hairbrushes exposing and carefully extractingfrom its stone matrix the jaw of a carniver-

ous animal that roamed the face of theearth two or three million years ago. It isa delicate operation, getting that fossilbone out intact, and I have a great admira-tion for the skill of the men who do it.From El Centro I traveled east onHighway 80 to Yuma, Arizona, and thennorth over that "dippy" road that runs toQuartzsite. It is a good gravel road despiteits roller-coaster construction. The dips

TO HILLSIDEThe do me-like knob sh own i n the inset in this m ap is the red stone butte that marks the washleading toward garnet mountain.

N O V E M B E R , 1 9 4 1 13


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is the southern end of Aquarius range, where spessartite garnets are found. Th earea explored by Guy H azen and the w riter of this story is at the right end of theridge shown in this photograph, near the top. Cattlemen report that garnets arefound on other mountains in this region.

make speed impossiblebut who wantsto break speed records in such a regionas that? Flanked on the east by the domesand spires and cliffs of the Castle Domeand Kofa ranges, and on the west by aluxuriant garden of desert shrubbery, thisis one of the most fascinating motor tripsin the lower basin of the Colorado river.It was mid-April. The horizon was gild-ed with the blossoms of palo verde trees.

As I neared Quartzsite ocotillo added itscrimson to the color scheme.From Quartzsite I followed Highway60 to Aguila. Few of the maps show aroad from Aguila to Alamo on the BillWilliams river, but the service station manthere assured me the graded trail whichled off in that direction was in excellentcondition. Since that was the most directroute to Alamo I took his word. And later

thanked him for having given me goodinformation.The Bill Williams has a wide sandychannel that is easily forded in dryweather. There is no bridge, and if youhappen to arrive a few hours after therehas been a rain in the mountains to thenorth, there's nothing to do but camp un-til the flood goes down. Motorists plan-ning to go into this area should alwaysmake inquiry as to the crossings over boththe Bill William s and Big Sandy rivers.During the past winter it was impossibleto ford these streams for several weeks ata time.Alamo is a little 'dobe settlement onlya short distance below where the Big San-dy and Santa Maria rivers unite to formthe Bill Williams.Recently, in A. H. Favour's book O ldBill Will iams. Mountain Man, I learnedwhen and how this stream was named forthe old scout and trapper. It came aboutin 1851 when Richard H. Kern was to-pographer for the Captain L o r e n z oSitgreaves' surveying expedition fromZuni to the Colorado river. Antoine Lc-roux was guide and hunter for the sur-vey party. He told Kern he had seen BillWilliams trapping on this river in 1837.Kern wrote the name on the map he wasmakingand it has been Bill Williamsriver ever since that time. Bill Williamsmountain was given its name about thesame time.The Lieut. Whipple expedition camped

its*This is the fossil quarry near Wikieup where paleontologists are finding the bones of manyancient birds and beasts. L eft to right: G uy Hazen, W illiam Klaus and Carl Long.

14 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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near Alamo in February, 1854, and foundthe stream just about as it is todaya footdeep and 15 wide.Across the Bill Williams the roadwound along the western base of theRawhide mountains, gradually gainingaltitude for 15 miles until I came unex-pectedly to a magnificent park of silver-leaf Joshua trees. I want all the desertbotanists to know about this place. Theshrubbery is so varied and dense it mightalmost be termed a "desert jungle."Giant Saguaros and Joshua and paloverde trees make a veritable forest, withcatsclaw, agave and many other shrubsfilling in. Greasewood, ocotillo, echino-cactus, beavertail, buckhorn and mallowwere all in blossom. I wanted to get outthe bedroll and camp right there.But I had promised Guy Hazen Iwould arrive at his bone-digger's campthat night, so I merely stopped longenough to take some pictures.Guy had provided me with an excellentmap of his campsite, otherwise I neverwould have found it. I rolled in just as hehad finished washing the supper dishes.He travels with a super-camp wagon fullof chests that are all cluttered up with pre-historic bones, gem rocks, petrified wood,oreanything of interest.

Hazen has an uncanny faculty for spot-ting areas where clay and sandstone out-croppings yield rich treasure for the bone-digging fraternity. One winter he'll be ex-cavating in California, the next in Nevadaor Arizona. To Guy Hazen, the desert isjust a great prehistoric graveyard, withthe bones of ancient beasts and birds closeto the surface in a thousand differentplacesif you know how to look forthem.As we sat around the campfire thatnight, he told me about the animal re-mains they were finding in this quarryprehistoric ancestors of the camel, thehorse, the deer and their carniverousneighbors, the fox, the coyote, the moun-tain lion. This particular deposit wasyielding more bird than animal bonesstrange creatures, some of them with aprobable wing spread of 10 feet. Ofcourse the scientists have very complicat-

ed names for these denizens of the ancientworld. For instance the bear-like creatureof that early day was a Hyaenognathus.When Guy started using that kind ofwords, I changed the subject."How about minerals," I asked. "Haveyou found any semi-precious gem stonesin this area?""Yes, if you want to go for a hike in themorning I will take you to a butte that isstudded with garnets," he answered."There are not only plenty for you but forall the Desert Magazine rockhounds whoare interested enough to come into thiscountry."And so, at daybreak the next morningwe were on our way to the Aquarius

Guy Hazen. paleontologist and gem rock collector. This boulder shows the vugs inwhich the garnets generally occur.mountain range where the garnet buttesare located.Guy told me how he discovered thefield. "I walked to the arroyo belowcamp one evening to see what kind offloat was coming down the streambed,"he said."I picked up a rhyolite boulder with anexcellent specimen of garnet. It was muchharder than most of the garnets you findin the desert, and the facet edges were stillsharp."Following up the watercourse, I founda few other stones in their matrices. Theywere not as well preserved as the first onebut they were convincing proof thatsomewhere back on the watershed was adeposit of garnets worth the search.

"N ext time I had a day off, I drove mycar as far as possible up the wash, and thenhiked to the mountain at the headwaters.

There I found the stones in placemanyof them. They occur singly and in groups,often in weathered vugs in huge bouldersthat had broken off the walls of the cliffabove, or in the walls themselves."Leaving the fossil camp we drove to thejunction where the road from Aguila andAlamo meets the road from Hillside andCongress junction. From this point wetook the road toward Hillside. At 9.7miles from the junction we turned leftup an arroyo known locally as KaiserSprings wash. A precipitous red butte, onthe right of the wash, is the best land-mark at this point.A short distance up the arroyo, .7 mileaccording to the speedometer, we passeda windmill with a tank for stock water. Amile beyond the windmill we passed awater trough, and just beyond this pointtook the right fork of the canyon. We con-

N O V E M B E R , 1 9 4 1 15


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tinued another mile and then the sand be-came too soft for safe travel and weparked the car.We continued along the floor of thearroyo on foot. We were gaining altitudeand soon began to see scrub oak along thedry watercourse. The most interestingbotanical specimens, however, were thefairy dusters that carpeted the slopes inplaces. This is a rare plant on the Califor-nia desert, being found in only two orthree small areas. But it grew here in pro-fusion. It was like meeting an old friendfrom home.

After a half mile of walking in the bot-tom of the wash we climbed over a lowridge on the left, then dropped down intoanother arroyo, and this led us a mile anda half ahead to the Aquarius range wherethe garnets are weathering out. Comingup the arroyo, however, we had been see-ing them in the water-worn bouldersalong the way.W e spent a couple of hours climbingthe steep rock faces, not gathering all thegem stones we saw, but selecting a nicespecimen here and there. It is not a placewhere you can gather them in by thepocket-full. If it was, the gem prospectorswould have worked this area long ago.But any collector can get a dozen garnets,large enough for a ring setting, in anhour's time. They are a deep red, some ofthem nearly black, beautifully faceted onthe exposed face.The garnets range up to a half inch indiameter and are classified by Hazen asspessartite. The rhyolite lava in whichthey occur is very possibly an intrusion orplug. It is a viscous type of lava that neverflows far before solidifying. The rockwhere the garnets are found shows noflow structure. Some of the rock structurein this area shows flow, but in this typethe garnets are missing. By the time themovement stopped the rhyolite was toocool for crystals to form.The rhyolite matrix is similar to thatat Thomas mountain, Utah, where topazcrystals are found.There is other lava structure in this area,and it is likely the garnets occur over amuch larger region than the mountainwhere Hazen and I spent the morning.However, it is a rugged country in whichto climb and the gem collector will feelhe has done a day's work if he hikes inand explores one small sector.The technique is to take a small chiselor screw-driver and a prospector's hammerand chisel them out, being careful not toplace the edge of the cutting tool too closeto the stone. The matrix material thatcomes with it can be ground off later.For the information of those who maycome to this field from the direction ofCongress Junction and Hillside, KaiserSprings wash is the first important arroyoafter crossing Burro creek. Generallythere is a wagon trail as far as the wind-mill. Beyond that it is a case of make your

own tracks, keeping plenty of momentum.An experienced sand driver will know byinstinct when the grade is becoming toosteep and the sand too heavy to continueon, and will swing his car around to parkheaded down stream before he loses his"drive."There is a well graded road into thisarea from Kingman or Hackberry onHighway 66 . In fact the route from King-man to Congress Junction is to be im-proved as an extension of U. S. 93. Whenthat paved extension is completed it willopen up a great new region of mineralwealth and botanical interesta littleknown sector of western Arizona that iscertain to be popular with motorists.The garnets we found are too dark to

be highly regarded by dealers in jewels.However, they are beautifully faceted byNature and have ample hardness for ringsets. More often than not they are foundin vugs in the rocks, dark sparkling littlegems against a light grey rhyolite back-ground.Scrambling over rocks in quest of littlecavities where glistening garnets may befound certainly is a more romantic wayof finding gem specimens than blastinghard rock far beneath the surface of theearthat least it is more practicable forthe average rockhound. And so I canrecommend this trip for those who havethe time and do not mind the rather roughroads encountered in this Arizona wilder-ness area.

Hard Rock Shortyof D eath Va lley . . .By LON GARRISON

"Now wait a minnit," advisedHard Rock Shorty. "These whitehairs o 'mine is perfectly natcheral,that is of course all but the three-fourfrom the time one o' them rangebulls from over Darwin way chasedme acrosst Fried Egg crick."Hard Rock shook the sand out ofhis hat, rubbed his head to assurehimself that what remained of hishair was all there yet, and thencocked his hat back to cut the sun offhis face."I'd been out prospectin.' Comein over the mountains there early inthe spring an' way back in the hillsmet this little bunch o' cattle. They'dwandered clean out o' their usualrange, things dried up, an' theywasn't feelin' too comfortable.Specially this bull. He was aboutas big as Hen Perk ins' truck, an' hada disposition like a brand new dep-pity sheriff."I stopped at the crick to get adrink an' water the burros, an' Iseen this bull headin' towards me.He was lord o' all creation there-abouts, an' I didn't have no ticket.He wru ng 'is tail a time or two,cleared 'is throat, throwed a littledust, an' warned us proper to git an'stay. But we was dry, an' no whiteheaded he-cow was gonna chase usout o' thereleastwise that's whatI thought."But O ld John Bull had a diffrentidea. He pawed some more dust,throwed some fancy half hitches

with 'is tail, mumbled a bit to warmup his pipes an' then bellered like

my old radio when it blowed a tube.I still didn't scare. But I did lookaround a bit an' the closest tree wasone pore old cottonwood down thecrick a half mile or so."J . Bull didn't give no furtherwarnin'. We was trespassin' an' hewas the bouncer. He stuck 'is nose inthe dirt, got in high gear in twojumps from a standin' start, an' theburros scattered like quail chicks inthe brush. Me, I stood there for acouple seconds 'til I got another lookat this bald headed locomotive head-ed for me, an' I lit out for that tree.In ten foot I was in overdrive withthe brush goin' by so fast it lookedlike I was in a tunnel with solidwalls."Mr. J. Bull was right on my tailan' gainin' a little. In fact my oldblue bandana was hangin' out o' myhip pocket an' every few jumps thebull'd get closet enough to wipe 'isnose on it. The tree was comin'comin' up fastbut the first limbwas 24 foot up in the air! I reallywas in a picklement!"Nothin' else to do thoughIhad to try it! If I didn't make it Iwouldn't have no second chance. Istarted bouncin' as high as I couldwhen I was runnin' and by the timeI come to the tree I give a extra bighop an' went up like a balloon. Yupat the top o' my jump I lookedback down an' the bull was just goin'by under me. Missed the branchthough. Misfiggered someway. Thatis, I missed it goin' up. But I gotit comin' down."



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Peter Aguereberry was with Shorty Harris whenthe historic gold strike was made at Harrisburg inthe Panamint mountainsin fact, it was Pete whoactually d iscovered the gold. That w as 36 ye ars agoan d Harrisburg ha s long since gone the way of mostboom mining camps. But Pete Aguereberry is stillthere working his original claim and taking "goodw ag es " from it. Her e's the story of a rea l desert ratthe kind of a man you would like to know better.

rje 3etona5 tothe Panaminti

By LeROY and MARGARET BALESLD timers in the Panamints have a legend.A lone prospector, three-quarters of a cen-tury ago, paused at the crest of the Funeralrange on the Nevada side of Death Valley. Handshading his eyes, he scanned the blues, yellows,and scarlets of the barren range beyond. His handdropped to scratch his burro's neck. "Gosha-mighty, Sal," he said, "if we can justget across that hell-hole, I'll bet we'llpan a mint o' gold."

At the end of another day's work.Pete Aguereberry at 67 is still ahard rock miner, taking "betterthan wages out of his claims everyday."

The old timers back up their legend with the fact that thereis no word like "Panamint" in any language, that it isn't to befound in any dictionary. And then will come stories of men whohave made the legend trueof lone prospectors coming into thePanamints, making a strike of rich, pure orepanning, indeed,a mint of gold from the Panamints.They'll mention Shorty Harris, whose name is desert history,an Indian named Panamint Tom, and a Frenchman namedPete AguereberryFrench Petewho also came over from theNevada mines with his eyes on the Panamints. He threw inwith Shorty Harris in Death Valley and headed up over therange to Ballarat. He paused on a mountain top to break off achunk of yellow ore. "Schist and slicks," Shorty said. But Peteshook his head, "Gold!" And in less than a week it was theHarrisburg strike, with prospectors and investors and sharksrushing in from far and near.An unassuming, erect little Frenchman was the cause of italla man whom desert stories touch lightly because of hisshyness of publicity, but who is perhaps more important thana hundred more glittering personalities.His story is desert history still in the making. He has spent36 years tunneling into a mountain, removing by hand thou-sands of tons of ore, and he has made that mountain

yield, on an average, "better than wages." He hasstayed on partly because he "couldn't get his price"-although several mining syndicates thought enoughof his mine to offer as high as $150,000but mainlyhe has stayed because the P anamints have grown to bea part of him, he a part of the Pan amints.That mine is the site of the once fabulous Harris-burg. Of all the hundreds who came and went awaydiscouraged, only Pete Aguereberry stayed on, work-ing for the most part alone, with pick andshovel and now and then a charge of dyna-mite, forcing his way through hundreds offeet of seemingly impenetrable rock, fac-

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ing heart-breaking days when a promising strata would leadonly to limestone and the "schist and slicks" of the derisiveShorty, hea ding off at a new tangent because he knew the goldwas there, panning every new strata because only that waywould he know what the yield might bethirty dollars a tonor 200 a toneither would make the average pay. But underthirtythat meant tunneling a new drift, another direction.The story of the Harrisburg strike has been told many times.Pete gave us his version one evening last February. We sataround the fire in his cabin. Outside the rain pattered down ingusts. In the Panamint valley below it mingled with a howlingwind. High in the mountains the snow swirled blindingly. Butinside it was warm and cheerful, a night for reminiscing."I'd been working in the copper mines in Nevada," he re-called. "The work slowed down and I thought I'd head forBallarat. I had some money coming so I told them to send itthere. Down in Death Valley I met Shorty Harris. He wasgoing the same way so we threw in together. Up over themountains Shorty was way ahead. He was always in a hurry,never looked to right or left, just kept prodding and cussinghis burro."I said, 'There ought to be gold in this mountain.' Shorty

wouldn't even look. He said, 'schist and slicks!' I broke off achunk of rock. There was free gold in it. I went running up toShorty to show him. He spat at his burro and then took out hisbig magnifying glass. He started jumping up and down like amonkey. 'Holy Smokes, Fourth of July, Pete!' It was the Fourthof July, 1905. He danced around. He was so excited I wasafraid to leave him alone. But one of us had to go to Ballaratfor supplies."I hunted around for some flat rocks and we measured offtwo claims. Shorty was to have the south half, me the north halfof the hill. Shorty couldn't write, so I put our names on separatesheets of paper and put them between the flat rocks at the fouroutside corners of the two claims. Shorty said he'd stay thereand not tell anybody. I started for Ballarat."I didn't have any money, but I thought the check would bethere. I had two slices of bacon and a cup of flour. I fried thebacon and made the flour into a flapjack in the one camp I hadto make between our claim and Ballarat. When I got to Ballarat

the check hadn't come yet. There wasn't anything to do but setup camp and wait. Every day I met the mail, but there wasn'tany check."After the third day the grocer came out. His name wasYork.He said he'd noticed I hadn't made a fire. I told him I waswaiting for some money in the mail. Some men came out of thesaloon. They were all excited. They were talking about a strike-some Frenchman had madeFrench Pete. They were goingthere right away. Everybody was going there, they said. I knewthen that someone had come over Emigrant wash past ourclaim and that Shorty had talked."I told York that was the claim Shorty and I had staked."He said, 'If you'll lay off a parcel for me, I'll grubstakeyou.'"I laid in a stock of food and hurried back into the moun-tains. When I got to the claim the hill was swarming withmen. It was dark. I couldn't find Shorty any place. I was wan-dering around trying to find the flat rocks we'd laid out."A deep voice came out of the dark, 'What you doing here?'"I said, "What you mean? It's my claim!'"The man came up close. He was big. I found out later his

name was Thurman."He said, It's Shorty Harris' claim. Shorty's name is betweenthe rocks.'"He showed me. We went around to every corner. At each ofthem there was just one slip of paper between the rocks. It wasthe onewith Shorty's name. I told him that Shorty and I were to-gether when I discovered it and that we agreed to split it in half:I could see he didn't believe me. Finally I remembered Shortycouldn't write and his name was in my hand-writing."I said, I'll show you that I wrote it out, then maybe you'llbelieveme.'"He said, 'All right, go ahead.'"So I wrote out Shorty's nameShorty Harrisjust like itwas between the rocks. He took them both up close and lookedat them. Then he held out his hand." 'All right, Pete,' he said. 'That's your handwriting all right.We're going to tell everybody that the north half of this hill isyours.' He was one white fellow. We got to be good friends."

18 T HE D E S E R T MA G A Z I N E


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Pete paused. He got up to stir the fire and put on anotherchunk of wood. Then he added, "You know, it's a funny thingthat piece of ore I broke off that day to show Shorty was rightover the only deposit of free gold there was in the whole hill.The rest of it is all mixed up with the rock."We asked about Shorty. Had he ever worked his half? Peteshook his head. "Shorty never was much of a man at mining,"he smiled. "Nor at prospecting either, as far as anyone couldever make out. He and Walter ScottDeath Valley Scottyare probably the two most famous of any of the Death Valleyprospectors, but no one has ever been able to show that eitherone of them ever did any actual prospecting."Shorty was credited with a lot of strikeslike the Bullfrogin Nevada and the World Beater in the Panamints down at theother end of the valley, but there was always someone elseclaimed the credit too. As for Scotty, there've been hundreds ofstories about his mineeven that he built his castle over it.But there's never been any record made w ith the county recorder.If he has any gold mine at all, it's his colorful personality andthe dollar and ten cents per head he charges to go through hiscastle," he laughed."Shorty got $1,000 for the Bullfrog mine," he went on. "Thatwas probably more money than Shorty ever had before or aft-

erward in his life. He went through that in a week. He nevermade anything on Harrisburg."After I left him that day to go to Ballarat, I didn't see himfor about a week. He turned up more excited than ever. He toldme he was selling his half to a mining syndicate. They were go-ing to give him $150,000 in stock. He was going to get rich offthe dividends."But before any dividends were paid, the syndicate ordered

Here's a glimpse of Badw ater, lowest point in Death V alley, from the h ighest tip of Ag uereberry Point.N O V E M B E R , 1 9 4 1 19


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an assessment on the stock. Shorty didn't have any money topay so that let him out. I don't think it made any difference toShorty. Money just worried him until he got it spent. He wasmore proud than anything of being a single-blanket prospectorand when he died he made them put that on his tombstonedown in Death Valley."We asked Pete how it happened he'd never sold. We knewhe'd had several offers."Well ," he said, "I always held out for cash. Whe n the strikewas first made there was a man going to pay me $150,000 cash,but something went wrong. I guess he couldn't raise themoney.An outfit wanted to give me $75,000 just a few years ago, butwhen I figured out what the taxes and costs would be therewouldn't be much left. I don't care for myself. I'm getting old.But I'd want to get something out of it for my brother's folks.The way it is it's a good wage for anybody that's willing toworkit."One of his nephews spends part of his time there now. He'slearned to be a pretty good hard rock man himself. But it's aquiet life for a young fellow. Pete never blames him wheneverhe has the urge to see the bright lights again."He can't remember it the way I canwhen there was al-most too much excitement," he explained. "In the old days youhad to be pretty handy with a gun. I never had to shoot a man,bu t I'd learned to be fast on the draw. It saved my life once. Itwas just after I'd come back from Ballarat. I was laying out aclaim for the storekeeper, York. A fellow named Frank Ken-nedy came up. He said, 'What you doin', Frenchie?' I said, "I'mlaying out a claim.' He said, "What you wantthe wholeworld? We already gave you half the hill!' He sounded mean.I stood up. He had a feed bag around his neck. A lot of theprospectors used a bag like that to carry samples in. He reachedin it quick. I could see the butt of a gun. I pulled out my thirty-t w o . He was surprised. He didn't move. 'Who found this hill?'I asked him. 'All right,' he dropped hishands to his sides. I told

him I was laying out a claim for the man whogrubstaked me. Isaid, 'There w ouldn't you or anybody else know about this hillyet if Shorty hadn't talked.' He said, 'That's right.' He could seemy side of it. We've been good friends ever since."Pete tells about the visit of the first automobile to Emi-grant springs. "It was a big Locomobile. You could hear it,'chug-chug' as it came up the wash. Everybody stopped to look.An old Indian squaw was sitting cross-legged on the ground.She shaded her eyes with her hand. She stared. Then shejumped up and gathered all her papooses around her. She pulledthem behind her skirts. Her mouth gaped. She said, 'Whatsamatter here? Whatsa matter? Gottem no horse! No pushem. Nopullem. Whatsa matter here?' "Pete hasanother discovery of which he is almost as proud as

he is of his mine. That's Aguereberry Pointa lookout high onthe crest of the Panamints from which the visitor can see all ofDeath Valleya gorgeous multi-colored panorama far below.He came across it by accident shortly after he came into thePanamints. It seemed so grand to him that he wanted others tobe able to see it too. He built the first road up to it with pick andshovel and maintained it until only a few years ago when theCCC took over the job."People used to ask me why I didn't turn it into a toll roadcharge people to go up and look," he said. "I never wanted todo that. It didn't seem right to charge anybody for somethinglike that. A pretty view ought to be free."He has always had a dream that someday someone might seethe possibilities of a resort there. Water could be piped fromyear-round springs not too far away, and the weather is neverunbearable. We asked him why he hadn't tried it himself. "Itwould cost more than I could afford, and I don't know any-



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The Aguereberry camp near the site o f the original strikething about that kind of business," he said simply. "I am tooold and have been a miner too long."Yet Pete Aguereberry never intended choosing mining as acareer. When he started it was just another of a long line ofjobs that an emigrant boy might find to do at the end of the19th century. He came to this country at the age of 16, arrivingin San Francisco on a one-way ticket. His first job was on ahandball court, keeping it in order, acting as a come-on withtrick shotsand pretty good at it too, he admitted modestly.But after three months the ligaments in his hand had become soswollen he couldn't keep on. Someone needed a man to breakin wild horses"There was one with a Roman nosewhite all around hiseyes. A mean horse. Y ou can always tell. A Roman-nosed horse,when he shows the whites of his eyehe's bad." Pete was agood rider, but the lassoer, probably more frightened than theboy on the horse, threw a faulty loop. The horse crashed to theground, Pete with him. He still bears the scar.Then came a job driving the stage from San Francisco to Vir-ginia City, Nevada. It was a hard job. "Sometimes in the win-

ter it was so cold the horses would have four-inch icycles hang-ing from their noses," he recalled. "We had to make regularstops to change the horses. They couldn't stand it long. Thatwas when the copper mines were booming in Nevada."One day somebody said, 'Pete, why don't you try mining?It can't be any harder than what you're doing.' I said, 'I don'tknow anything about mining .' He said, You can muck.' I didn'teven know what 'muck' meant, but I told him I'd try. Threeweeks later the mine closed. By then I knew about mucking."There were lots of other mines, and a good mucker couldalways get work. I used to follow the booms. I was the fifthman at Tonopah, the third man at Goldfield. When the Nevadamines slowed down I thought I'd try California. Th ere was a lotof talk about the Panamints"He paused, smiled. "You know, if anybody had told me thatday I put Shorty's and my name between those rocks that itwould m ean I was going to be here for 36 years, I think I wouldhave started running and maybe be running yet. Life does fun-ny things. Maybe it's a good thing we don't know what it's go-ing to do ." (Copyright Reserved)

Death Valley from Aguereberry Point. Frasher photograph.N O V E M B E R , . 1 9 4 1 21


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SanBy CHARLES KELLYSke tches by John HansenUR car was parked in front ofa large circular brush enclosureon the Ute Indian reservationnear White Rocks, in Uintah county,Utah, where the Uintah Utes wereholding their annual Sun dance. Insidewere 16 Utes, in ceremonial costume,dancing to the monotonous throb of abig drum and the chant of a group ofsingers. The time was mid-July and thetemperature was 105 with no shade.

John Hansen and I, with our wivesand John Jr., had started from SaltLake City about midnight in order toarrive at the dance in time to hear theSunrise song. Fascinated by the cere-monial, we had forgotten all about fooduntil nearly noon. Then young Johnnysuggested that we dig up the lunch boxand cut the watermelon. While thewomen unwrapped sandwiches Johnnycut the melon and laid the temptingslices on a newspaper in full view ofthe dancers.

Just then the biggest Ute I ever sawcame rushing out of the enclosure. Thelook on his face must have been similarto what Rev. Meeker saw at the Meek-er massacre in 1879- There was fire inhis eye, and we can all testify that a madUte is not exactly a pleasant sight."Hey!" he shouted angrily, "youcan't do that. Get that melon out ofsight!""But why?" I asked, unable to thinkof any reason why he should take of-fense."Don't you know," the Indiansnapped, "that those men have beendancing four days and nights withoutfood or water? If they see that melonthey'll go crazy!"We hadn't known, But it wasn't dif-

ficult to imagine what torture the sightof that melon would be to men who haddanced four days and nights in thatheat, without water. So we hurriedlyput the melon out of sight, to be eatenat a more appropriate time and place,and watched the dancers with renewedrespect. These people we call "savages"take their religion seriously.Few of the older Utes speak Eng-lish. But through the courtesy of Char-ley White Horse, graduate of the res-ervation school, we learned a numberof interesting things about the Sundance. In earlier days it was practicedby Plains Indians as a ceremony of in-itiation for young men about to becomewarriors. A pole was set up on the danc-ing ground on which was mounted abuffalo's head and other symbolic ob-jects. At the end of the dance, slits werecut in the muscles of the initiate's back,rawhide thongs were inserted, to

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which was tied a buffalo's skull. Theyoung man ran from the dancingground, dragging the skull until thethongs were torn from his flesh. If hesurvived, he became a full-fledgedwarrior. Several early explorers havedescribed this bloody ceremony, but itwas prohibited when the Indians wereplaced on reservations.For centuries the Sun dance in someform was the most important ceremon-ial of the sun-worshipping Indians andrather than abandon it entirely theymodified it to conform with govern-ment demands. Although it was origin-ally a ceremonial of the Plains tribes, ithas been adopted, within comparativelyrecent times, by some of the mountaintribes, including the Shoshones andBannocks. The Utes got it from the FortHall reservation at Pocatello, Idaho.The Sun dance of the Uintah Uteshas been, until the past four or fiveyears, a purely Indian ceremonial, towhich white visitors were not invited.The Utes have nothing to sell, and donot perform it as a public spectacle.Several days before the dance theygather at the prescribed place to con-struct the dancing pavilion, which mustbe built strictly according to tradition.There is a center pole, painted and dec-orated, on which is hung a mountedbuffalo's head. Twelve long poles radi-ate from the center to the outer diameterof the circle, built of poles and brush.The only opening faces the rising sun.The dancers take their places againstthe west wall, facing the opening.The dance begins at sundown, andlasts until sundown of the fourth day.Properly painted and costumed, thedancers take their places at sundownof the first day, and continue the dance,with short periods of rest, day andnight for 96 hours, in the hottestweather, without touching food orwater. The dance consists of shufflingback and forth from their places towardthe center pole, with eyes fixed on thebuffalo head, blowing an eagle-bone

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whistle in time with the drum. The drum-mers and chanters sit just south of the en-trance. They are principally old men, anda chorus of old women sit close behindthem. For the ordinary chants each sing-er improvises a verse which is rehearsedonce before the drum begins to boom outits rhythm.The Sun dance as practiced by the Utesnow is almost entirely a healing ceremony.Nearly all the dancers are afflicted withsome disease, generally tuberculosis. Ifone is too sick to participate, he mayhire a proxy to dance for him. The leaderof the ceremony instructs and encouragesthe dancers at intervals, and his exhorta-tions are as sincere as any white revivalist.Without understanding the words, oneknows the trend of his thoughts. Theleader allows no joking among the parti-cipants, and any disturbance among thevisitors that might distract the attentionof the dancers is instantly stopped. Spec-tators may not eat or drink within a quar-ter mile of the pavilion.Often the dancers fall exhausted. Usu-ally only three or four of the strongest lastuntil the end. But the Indians believe thatmany wonderful cures have been effectedby the Sun dance. One man we saw hadentered the pavilion on crutches, but wasdancing vigorously at the end of the thirdday.

The ordinary chant, improvised on thespot, goes on hour after hour, day afterday, and sounds monotonous to the whiteman's ear. But there are certain ceremonialsongs, handed down from obscurity, thatcan be appreciated by any musician. Thefinest of these is the Sunrise song, sungeach day just as the sun breaks over thehorizon. Every Indian present joins in thisanthem to the King of Day, and in myopinion it is one of the greatest hymns Ihave ever heard. Rendered in its primitivesetting, with magnificent backdrop of theUintah mountains,

194111 DesertMagazine 1941 November

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